The monk soldier smiled.

“And how wouldst thou attempt to convert the infidel?”

“At the first blasphemy he uttered I would cut him down, cleave him to the chine.”

“Such our knights generally hold to be the better way, for their arms were readier than their tongues, but I never heard that they saved the souls of the heathen thereby.”

“No one wants to see them in heaven, I should think.  Let them go to their own place.”

“It is wrong, I know it is.  It must be.  There is a better way—­come with me, boy, I would fain show thee something.”

He led the wondering boy into the garden of the monastery.  There in the centre arose an artificial mount, and upon it stood a cross—­the figure of the Redeemer, bending, as in death, from the rood.  It was called “The Calvary,” and men came there to pray.

The father bent his knee—­the son did the same.

“Now, my boy, whom did He die for but His enemies?  Even for His murderers He cried, ‘Father, forgive them!’ And you would fain slay them.”

Hubert was silent.

“When thou art struck—­”

“No one ever struck me without getting it back, at least no boy of my own age,” interrupted Hubert.

“And He said, ’When thou art smitten on one cheek, turn the other to the smiter.’”

“But, my father, must we all be like that?  I am sure I couldn’t be that sort of Christian; even the good earl Simon is not, nor Martin either.  Perhaps the chaplain is—­do you think so?”

“Who is Martin?”

“The best boy I know, but I have seen him fight.”

“Well, and thou may’st fight nay, must, as the world goes, in a good cause, and there is a sword which thou must bear unsullied through the conflict.  But if thou avengest thine own private wrongs, as I did, or bearest rancour against thy personal foes, never wilt thou deliver me.”

“Deliver thee?”

“Yes, my child.  I am under a curse, because on the very day of the great sacrifice on the Cross, on a Friday, I slew a man who had insulted me.  He died unhouselled, unanointed, unannealed, and his ghost ever haunts my midnight hour.”

“Even here, in this holy, consecrated place?”

“Even in the very church itself.”

“Can any one else see it?”

“They have never done so.  Perhaps as thou art of my blood, it might be permitted thee.”

“I will try.  Let me stay this night with thee, and watch by thy side in the church.”

“Thou shalt be blessed in the deed.  I will ask Sir Nicholas to tarry the night if he can do so.”

“Or I might ride back alone tomorrow.”

“The forest is dangerous; the outlaws abound.”

“That for the outlaws, hujus facio;” and Hubert snapped his fingers.  It was about the only scrap of Latin he cared for.

The father smiled sadly.

“Come, we are keeping Sir Nicholas waiting;” and they returned to the great quadrangle, where they found that worthy striding up and down with some impatience.